


Midnight Rendevous

by Calacious



Category: Full House (US)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 00:08:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4585440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calacious/pseuds/Calacious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At night, when everyone is asleep, Joey tiptoes into Jesse's room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midnight Rendevous

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of this work of fiction, and no profit, monetary or otherwise, is being made through the writing of this.

Part I. Joey's Point-of-View

He always waited until Danny and the girls were asleep, and then, quietly, Joey would tiptoe into Jesse's room. His heart would hammer in his chest the whole way, and he'd be terrified that the noise would wake Danny, or one of the girls, and that he'd be caught. That he and Jesse would have to stop their midnight rendezvous.

Jesse would be waiting for him – lifting the edge of his covers, inviting Joey in. Joey would slip in beside Jesse, and then he'd sigh, feeling the tension that had been building all day ease when Jesse pulled him close, linking their fingers together, and kissing each of Joey's knuckles, smiling so that his eyes crinkled at the corners.

Then, they'd kiss. Jesse's lips tasted a lot like chocolate chip cookies, and what Joey imagined sunshine would taste like on a hot summer day. Fingers would quest and grope, and soon, they'd be completely absorbed in each other, the rest of the house, the world, would disappear.

They'd amp it up a little: touching, gripping, pulling, licking, teasing each other to the brink of orgasm. Joey'd bite down on a pillow to muffle the sounds – the grunts, moans, pants – that Jesse's touch wrought from him.

He'd bury his face between Jesse's shoulder blades – slick and glistening with sweat – and lose himself in the scent – vanilla, peanut butter, and cinnamon – and rhythm of Jesse.

Some nights they'd take it slow, Joey begging, weeping to come. And others, like tonight, it would be fast and dirty, and Joey'd cry out his release against Jesse's back, biting into the man's shoulder, marking him in a place where no one, but he would be able to see, after dark, when it was just the two of them and Jesse wore nothing but a smile.

On those nights, Joey would ride out his orgasm with his cock pressed between Jesse's ass-cheeks, the heat and friction almost unbearable. Sometimes, he'd be buried deep inside of Jesse when he came, Jesse tight and hot around him, squeezing out every last ounce of Joey that he could while Joey stroked Jesse's cock – arms wrapped around Jesse's middle, fingers pinching and squeezing, hand wrapped around Jesse, jerking, and slip-sliding along the man's shaft, making him whimper and beg, and tighten around Joey.

Then there were those nights when they just lay together, staring into each other's eyes, fingers tracing old, and new scars. They'd kiss, leisurely, like it was a lazy Sunday and they had no one to answer to, nowhere to be, and they were the only two men in the entire world. Joey liked those nights best. They'd doze, off and on throughout the night; Jesse spooned within Joey's embrace.

But, always, no matter the night, just before dawn – before the rest of the house woke – Joey would gently extricate himself from Jesse, and would tiptoe back to his own room, draw the covers back, and lay down on his cold, empty mattress, feeling a little lost. A part of his heart missing when he's not with Jesse.

A short time later, minutes, maybe hours, Michelle, or Stephanie, or DJ, or Danny, would come bouncing past, or into, his room, and Joey would put on a smile, throw the covers off, and ignore the ever-present aching of his heart. Joey would entertain his family, acting the part of a clown, and pretending that Jesse's forced jibes didn't hurt.

In the daytime, he had to make do with _this_ Jesse, the man who was both Danny's and Joey's best friend. The proverbial uncle. The man who could undo him with a crooked smile or a tilt of his head. It was the nights, the midnight rendezvous, that Joey looked forward to, and they helped to see him through the long, long days where he itched to touch, but couldn't.

* * *

 

Part II. Jesse's Point-of-View

Jesse lives for midnights. Lives for the moments when his door opens a crack and the shadow of Joey creeps across his floor, silhouetted in the dim light that spills into his room from the hallway.

"Jess?" Joey's voice, hesitant, even after all this time, is like a balm for Jesse's nerves, stretched taut, and near breaking.

"Get in here," Jesse hisses, gesturing urgently for the blonde to enter before he's caught, by Danny, or one of the girls, and has to come up with some excuse for why he's visiting Jesse's room at midnight.

Jesse isn't worried that Joey won't be able to come up with a reasonable excuse, because the man's quick-witted, and, though Jesse gives him a hard time, Joey knows how to think on his feet. He's more worried that Joey will be caught, and after making excuses, he'll have to return to his own room, leaving Jesse with a cold, half-empty bed.

Joey's head bobs, apologetically, and he slips in through the crack, quietly closing the door behind him. He tiptoes across the floor, and Jesse grows impatient, rolls his eyes at Joey's antics.

Every night, without fail, they start out with a kiss. Sometimes it's slow and meandering – fingers, tongue and lips exploring each other's bodies at a leisurely pace. It makes him hard, makes him want things that he can't have at any other time of day than this, when the lights are out, and the girls and Danny are sound asleep, oblivious to what's going on just a few doors down from them.

Other times, though, it's heated and messy – teeth gnashing, rutting against each other, cock pressed to cock – and Jesse has to bite his own fist to not wake the house as the fire that's been building up inside of him throughout the day is finally released.

They don't always fuck, but, when they do, Jesse likes to have Joey buried balls deep inside him – tip of the blonde comedian's cock brushing against his prostate, making him see stars and Elvis, and the entire fucking universe.

"You sure, Jess?" Joey's reluctance, the way that he blushes, and his eyelashes flutter in his humility are almost enough to make Jesse come, but he needs more, he needs the pressure, the feel of Joey moving inside of him. Without it, without that connection, he feels empty and dead. Joey makes him feel whole, alive, loved.

"Fuck me, Joey Gladstone," Jesse never hesitates to say those words, to spur the blonde man into action, and he guides his lover – Joey willing and pliable – through every aspect of their lovemaking, feeling powerful, unstoppable, and as though he could take on the whole damn world.

Jesse likes it this way – Joey fucking him – because, this way he knows. He knows that it's him, and not someone else, that's making Joey come undone. This way Jesse knows that he's the one rocking the blonde man's world. That it's his ass, the jerk of his hips, the moaning of Joey's name over and over again, coming from his lips as he reaches climax, coming before Joey, the walls of his ass tightening around Joey's cock, and then the both of them riding their orgasms out together.

And Joey does it, does everything that Jesse asks him to, with only a moment's pause to ensure that it's okay, that he's doing it right.

It's a heady thing, this control that he has over Joey, and Jesse revels in it – revels in Joey. Revels in the fact that he can have Joey in any way that he wants to. The only drawback is that he can only have Joey, like this, in the middle of the night, and at rushed, stolen moments throughout the day.

But, Jesse doesn't mind the wait. Doesn't mind that he has to see Joey during the day – watch his lover joke around and help out with the girls – and not touch. Because, when midnight rolls around, Joey's there, poking his head through the small opening in the doorway, and wanting what only Jesse can give him – the loss of control, of responsibility, of having to make all of the decisions.

Jesse lives for midnights. For the times when Joey is fucking and marking him – filling in the missing blanks of his life:

_Whole._

_Worthy._

_Wanted._

_Loved._

Jesse lives for midnights, when he can give Joey what the man needs most - him.


End file.
